When my husband and I walked into our home eight years ago it took hold of us in such a good way. Since then, we have loved it into modern living while keeping the integrity of a house built in 1900 with four fireplaces and servants' steps. We redid the kitchen, put in new heating and air conditioning, tightened up the house for efficiency's sake. But one room has remained virtually untouched. A room on the third floor at the front of the house with a window on the city of Cincinnati. It's been my office, my writing space.

For most of the time we have lived here, I have had the sense of some other spirit in the house. I could see her walking the steps, could feel her presence in the room at the top of the house. I clearly heard the name Esmeralda when I envisioned her here.

We put our house up for sale in April and had a contract on it within weeks. I began planning our move and writing an essay about Esmeralda.When I shared a rough draft with my writing group, it was suggested that I research who lived in the house in the hopes of uncovering a servant girl with that name.

Off to the courthouse I went to trace the deeds back to the origin of this house. The first owner was a circuit court judge named Otto Daniel Wolff. He and his wife, Christina had two children, a son who went on to be an architect, and a daughter named Ruth.

Ruth owned the house from the time of her mother's death in the forties until 1968, when the deed transferred to someone else. While trying to find out as much as possible about the people who lived here, I discovered this fact: Ruth wrote novels. In fact, she wrote four novels over her lifetime and was published widely in Redbook and Ladies Home Journal. Her most notable work was a novel published in New York, entitled I, Keturah, copywright 1963.

In bold print on the inside of the book jacket it says: Warmth, Compassion, and the steadfastness of the human heart mark this novel of a girl who starts as a nameless orphan and becomes a person who enriches her world by her presence.

I'd like to think that the characters I have written about in this house provoke similar observations. It leads me to wonder at Ruth's compassion for others. Her empathy, and her love for the common person. She wrote about the migration of Appalachians to Northern Kentucky and Cincinnati; people looking for work when none could be found in their hometowns.

It's taken us three years to decide to leave this home. Ruth and her family built a sturdy, exquisite place where light plays upon the wood and brings out the honey quality. Each time we have tried to leave we worried that we would not find a place we love as much as this one. But the day we met the prospective new owners as they looked at the facade after an open house, I knew we would be okay because we were passing it on to others who had fallen in love with many of the things we loved.

I truly believe we are stewards of the homes we live in, and therefore must respect and make better the environment in which we live. We leave this house at the end of the month, go into a rental space for a few months with a contract on another house. Believe it or not, the new place built in 1908 will have everything we need. Will it be like Ruth's house? No. But Ruth's house has served us well.

Ruth and I have written some good, good things here. She and her spirit will stay with me. I feel I am on the cusp of realizing my worth as a writer. All indications point to a journey of good things to come.

Amid packing boxes and long to-do lists, I call out Ruth's name. I read to her from her own book. This morning, this is what I read, a statement from the main character, Keturah."Slowly, painfully, I began to emerge. Along the way I found that no matter how small the gift you have to offer, if you give it generously it makes a place for you and opens a way."